


Souvenirs from a Naked Planet

by NiceHatGeorgia



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, clothes sharing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 13:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiceHatGeorgia/pseuds/NiceHatGeorgia
Summary: Somehow the boots make it even better. Worse. Definitely worse.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 15
Kudos: 128





	Souvenirs from a Naked Planet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_M/gifts).

> Was this little one-shot part of some ill-fated clothes sharing fic challenge? Let's hope so, it really doesn't make sense outside of that context. :P
> 
> For Sarah_M, who asked soooo nicely that she didn't even actually ask.
> 
> Thanks to NellieOleson for the beta. You're right, this needs a better ending. :shrugs: :sighs:

Jack hates rainy planets. The dampness seeps into your bones and makes it impossible to feel comfortable or warm or focused.

Of course, rainy planets aren’t as bad as desert planets. Sand can infiltrate even the most elaborate defenses in a way that would be impressive if it wasn’t so goddamn annoying. Anytime SG-1 gets back from a desert planet, Jack spends days digging sand out of places where the sun has not shined for decades.

But the worst type of planet, Jack is learning, is this one: a naked planet.

His complaint has nothing to do with the weather. It’s warm, hot even. It’s not raining and there’s nary a sand hill in sight. But just because the climate doesn’t strictly necessitate clothing doesn’t mean that clothing shouldn’t be worn.

Jack takes in the smiling faces of the very naked villagers who’ve come to greet them at the gate, and he sighs. It’s a shame, he thinks, that more planets can’t just be like Minnesota, with trees and lakes and flannel shirts for everyone.

They’re here for a week. These naked people have naquedah, and they’re happy to trade. But they only trade with friends, and they only become friends by spending time together. Naked time. Fortunately, they’re not insisting on a dress code. If anything, they seem more intrigued than offended by SG-1’s uniforms. As for Jack, he’s doing his best not to have any opinion whatsoever about their attire, or lack thereof.

Teal’c takes it all in stride. He’s adaptable by nature and not easily perturbed, more accustomed than the rest of them to bizarre alien cultures and traditions. Daniel, of course, finds the whole thing fascinating, and won’t stop prattling on about sumo wrestlers in Japan and Digambara yoga monks in India and other things Jack would rather not think about.

As for Carter, after an initial period of caution, she seems to have warmed right up to these people, especially the kids. Over the course of their week-long visit, she develops a bit of a following, and usually has a gaggle of small, naked children trailing her, listening to her stories about the stars and the suns. The children gaze at her with open, unguarded affection that makes Jack’s chest tighten with something he might identify as envy, because he’s not allowed to look at her like that. He tries not to think about that either.

By day six of their friendship visit, Jack has gotten pretty good at not thinking about much of anything. He tries to find joy in the small things, like the fact that Teal’c agreed to accompany Daniel to today’s history lesson with the village elders, letting Jack off the hook.

Instead, he’s sitting on a rock with his back to a cluster of bushes that borders a clear pond where Carter is, of all things, naked. Just another thing not to think about.

She’d wanted to come down to the pond and rinse off. It is hot here. And the pond is nice. Secluded. And they really don’t have much else to do. Jack is whittling a stick, trying to focus on the sound of his knife scraping against the wood, and not at all on anything that might suggest Carter splashing around with no clothes on.

He’s trying so hard _not_ to hear her that he’s a bit caught off guard when she comes crashing through the bush behind him. He turns, and there she is.

Naked.

Jack feels his jaw go slack. She’s got her underwear on still, and thank god for that. But the white sports bra and bottoms combo is not leaving a whole lot to his imagination, especially not when she’s dripping wet. He lets his gaze drop and sees that she’s got her combat boots on too. They’re untied. Somehow the boots make it even better. Worse. Definitely worse.

“They took my clothes, sir,” she’s saying. Jack blinks and forces himself to look at her face. “All of them.”

Either she hasn’t realized that she’s mostly naked, or she doesn’t think it’s a big deal. It’s true that this covers more than your run-of-the-mill bikini would. And it’s true that he’s seen her in less, little snippets of bare skin accidentally glimpsed over years of working and traveling together, sharing locker rooms and tents and ponds and the like. But never all at once like this. And never quite so wet.

“Clearly not… all of them,” he says with a gesture in the general direction of her body and her scant white undergarments. He was going for teasing, but he’s pretty sure he missed, judging by the look on her face. It probably doesn’t help that his voice came out a whole lot deeper and quieter than he’d intended.

He clears his throat. “You got a spare set?” He tries very hard not to think about any other sets of anything. God, but that is a lot of skin. Wet, naked Carter skin.

“I had my clean clothes on a rock by the edge of the pond,” she explains. Jack narrows his eyes and tries to focus on a freckle on her cheek, just below her left eye. He can’t quite meet her gaze, not like this, but he doesn’t want to accidentally look at any of her other freckles either. “I’d rinsed my dirty clothes and laid them out next to my clean ones. They took both sets.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack registers that she’s just as embarrassed as she is pissed, because her plan was not a great plan. Then again, who would’ve suspected that the nice, naked folks on this planet would be clothing thieves? And he _was_ supposed to be keeping watch.

Jack presses his lips together. “Ok,” he croaks, and he clears his throat again. A whole week on a planet of naked people, but this is by far the most erotic thing he’s seen. Maybe ever. “Back to camp.”

“Camp?” she says. “Sir, can’t we just go straight to town and get my clothes?”

“Nope,” Jack says.

Camp is a ten minute walk west, and town is a ten minute walk north. Perhaps no one else minds that Sam is mostly naked, not even Sam herself, but Jack minds. And he’s self-aware enough to know that he needs to prioritize getting her clothed, above all other considerations, before he makes this whole situation even more awkward for everyone.

“I’ll take point,” he adds.

They trudge back to camp, and Jack hastily gives her a black t-shirt and green pair of pants out of his pack, breathing a discrete sigh of relief when she looks a little more like a soldier and a little less like something he tries not to dream about.

When they arrive in town ten minutes later, the village elder greets them with a sheepish grin. “I understand the children have caused you some discomfort,” she says.

“The children?” Carter asks.

_You have no idea,_ Jack thinks. “No worse for the wear,” he says instead, realizing belatedly that that particular expression might be lost on this crowd. “How about we get those clothes back?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, “that will not be possible. They have already been distributed.”

“Come again?”

“The children,” the elder repeats with a shrug, as if that explains it. She waves her arm in a sweeping gesture around the village square, and sure enough, every child they can see is now adorned with a scrap of black or BDU-green fabric. Some of them have tied the swatches into their hair, or around their arms or ankles. At least one spunky youngster has made his bit of Carter’s uniform into a bandana.

“You must forgive them,” the elder continues. “They are so saddened at the thought of your departure tomorrow. They only wanted something to remember you by. A souvenir.”

Jack turns to Carter and sees a small grin on her face as she takes in these kids—her groupies for the last week—cavorting around in pieces of her uniform. His own green BDU pants are drooping around her hips, held up with a deftly-tied piece of rope. His black t-shirt hangs loosely off her shoulders.

And it’s not at all hard to see the outline of her wet sports bra on the dark fabric. Jack swallows and frowns as he tries but fails to push from his mind the image of her wet and mostly naked in front of him. Underwear and combat boots. God.

The kids might find some comfort in torn-up scraps of Carter’s clothing, but for Jack, this particular souvenir is nothing but agony.


End file.
